


Something to Be Thankful For

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Steve, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: Tony is always good at making Steve feel better.  Steve is thankful.  (A Thanksgiving themed fic.)





	Something to Be Thankful For

Steve almost always woke up quickly, instantly alert and ready, even when it was nothing more than an average morning, but this time, he came awake slowly, his thoughts feeling slow and thick. There was a warm, pleasant feeling of caressing pressure against his scalp, through his hair, the weight of a hand he recognized, that went along with the scent surrounding him, pleasant and familiar, the crisp scent of a familiar cologne with an undercurrent of motor oil, metal, and grease. He opened his eyes and smiled up at Tony.

“Oh, hey,” Tony said, warm and soft. His fingers carded through Steve’s hair again, and he smiled back down at him, so that it crinkled around his eyes, turned his features soft. “There you are.”

“Hey there, fella,” Steve said, feeling his own smile widen. His voice came out sounding husky and thick, scratchy and low. He must have dropped off. That hardly ever happened to him, but, well, he was tired. “Sorry for checking out on you.”

“Hey, no,” Tony said, still soft. His fingers dropped, rubbed at the back of Steve’s neck, and he almost closed his eyes again in pleasure, had to fight against it. “You need the rest. How are you feeling?” 

“Fine,” Steve said. He didn’t want to dwell on his injuries—they weren’t a big deal, and they’d be gone in another few days, anyway. It was just a few broken ribs, a slash down his leg. They were already knitting, healing; he could feel it. Sure, it was rough, being injured a few days before Thanksgiving, but hey, at least he could eat a lot over the next couple of days, give his metabolism a boost. He was just sorry he couldn’t chip in to help Jarvis with the cooking like he normally did.

Tony smiled at him a little more, and Steve felt his skin heat and redden, knowing that had come out a little clipped and short. He didn’t mean to be that short with Tony. There was no call to snap at him just for being concerned. He took a deep breath, blew it out.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Nah,” Tony said, lazily, stroking at Steve’s neck some more. “I know how much you hate being injured, hon. No need to apologize to me.”

Sure there wasn’t. Steve sighed, let his head rest more solidly on Tony’s shoulder anyway. It felt … good, to lie here like this. They were tucked up in bed, and he was wearing a soft t-shirt, lounge pants. Tony was dressed similarly. Steve didn’t really remember changing his clothes or getting into bed, falling asleep, just the relief of putting his arms around Tony, resting his head on his shoulder. He must have been really out of it.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Tony murmured. He pushed the tablet on his lap over a little, stroking Steve’s hair again. “Just relax.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve murmured. That felt really good. He . . . felt really good. It was nice to lie here like this, warm like this. His injuries throbbed dully, but it was a low-grade background sort of pain, easy enough to ignore with all the practice he’d had. Tony’s hand stroking through his hair seemed much more immediate, much more vivid and important.

“Shh,” Tony said, and when Steve looked up, he was smiling again. “No hardship,” Tony told him, and Steve knew that was Tony’s way of saying how much he liked this, lying here together, warm and soft, and relaxed. He snuggled in to drape an arm over Tony’s chest, turn his face in toward the warm skin of Tony’s neck and press a kiss there.

Tony shivered under him; Steve could feel it, through the hand he had pressed to Tony’s chest, against his body.

“Sweetheart,” Tony said, low and thick, and pressed a soft kiss against Steve’s hair, against his temple, that sent warmth through him, a gentle glow that made Steve relax against him even more. Tony’s fingers carded gently through Steve’s hair again. “You’re taking it easy, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve mumbled. He still felt sleepy, thick, pleasantly transported on the warmth and solidity of Tony’s body, the warmth and welcome of his presence. “You’re the boss.”

“That’s right,” Tony told him, and Steve could hear in his voice that he was smiling faintly. “I’m in charge of you right now, soldier. I call the shots. Be a good boy for me, all right?”

“Do my best,” Steve said, smiling a little. Being good and obedient hadn’t been his strong suit even when he was a soldier, but somehow he always wanted to do his best for Tony. He curled both arms around Tony, hugged him close, let his body relax into his, against him. Tony was all lean muscle and strength against him, under him, and Steve just wanted to curl up around him and never leave. Nothing felt as—as good as this, as perfect, as—as safe, as this, curled up against Tony in Tony’s bed in the mansion, the bigger-than-king bed that fit both of them with room to spare, that smelled like Tony, soap and aftershave, the crispness of clean cotton sheets warm and soft and fresh on his skin, the firm but soft pillows that he could just sink into, Tony’s living warmth there against him, the reassuring security of Tony’s presence, his strength, his comforting presence and how he made Steve feel sheltered and looked after and, and loved in ways Steve didn’t often let himself feel. He always tried to be—to be strong, not a problem or a burden or a drain, doubted he’d have imposed himself like this on most of his other lovers, but Tony always made it feel more than okay, like it was a favor to him instead of the other way around. 

“You always do,” Tony said, smiling softly at him and tracing his fingers down over Steve’s chest, over his t-shirt between his pectorals, tracing over the muscles and then down his side, in a gentle way that made him shiver and press closer, not in a sexual way, just because the light, simple caress felt good, made him shiver with the awareness of his skin and muscle, even as Tony’s fingers lingered lightly over the tape over his ribs through his shirt, under the blankets.

Tony was being generous; Steve knew how difficult he could be when he was hurt, how good he usually _wasn’t_ , how he turned into a wounded, snarling bear who lashed out at the people who cared about him the most, but he didn’t want to do that this time. He really did intend to do his best, try to be patient, let Tony tell him what to do for a few days. Well, maybe one day. Tonight and tomorrow morning, maybe.

“You’re being generous,” he mumbled into Tony’s shoulder, all the same.

“And why wouldn’t I be generous to my sweet guy?” Tony asked, a smile still in his voice as he stroked gently over Steve’s sore side. Somehow he knew exactly how to do it so it felt good rather than hurt, so that it made tension and soreness drain out of Steve like lancing a wound, made him relax even further, so soft and loose and lax. It felt so good. “You’re my sweetheart, aren’t you, babe?”

“And you’re mine,” Steve mumbled, unable to put into words the fondness that welled up inside him, that made him squeeze his arms around Tony and hold him close, the gratitude and softness and how it made him feel overwhelmed that he got to have this, to the point that his throat felt thick and tight and wet stung the corners of his eyes.

“I know; I won’t forget,” Tony said, soft and sweet and warm. His hand slid back up, rubbed gently at Steve’s shoulders. “Thank you. Thank you, big guy.”

“I love you,” Steve choked out over his suddenly tight throat. “Thank you so much for this. For—for being here. For doing this for me.”

“Of course I am,” Tony murmured. “I don’t want to be anywhere else. Shhh, honeybunch. Relax. I’ve gotcha.”

And he did, that was the thing. He really did have him. He looked out for Steve, watched over him. He gave him a home, he gave him a place to feel soft and weak and himself, he—he did so much for Steve, and Steve was so difficult, and he was so grateful. All the time, he was so grateful. Tony was so good to him, and he never even had to ask.

“I, uh, I, I love you, too, sunshine,” Tony said, stammering and sweet and unsure, and God, Steve loved him so much.

“I know,” Steve murmured, against Tony’s chest, against his heart, where he could feel it beating fast, feel the scars through the soft thin fabric of his t-shirt, the rabbit-quick way it pounded. He turned his head, pressed a kiss to it through the fabric, slid one hand under Tony’s shirt and rubbed at his waist, the soft skin there. “I know, Tony.” Tony showed him every day, even when he didn’t say it. Steve just had to pay attention. To remember how Tony showed his affection, his love, all the ways he showered Steve in each little bit of attention, each gift to make his life easier.

“Just as long as you know,” Tony said, softly, sounding a little unsteady, his fingers curling gently in Steve’s hair, tugging just a little.

“I know,” Steve murmured, soft, left his hand flat on Tony’s belly, feeling the slight softness over the muscle, letting the warmth of his palm bleed through Tony’s soft t-shirt. “I always know, Tony, sweetheart.” It wasn’t exactly true; sometimes he forgot, to his own shame, took Tony for granted, his sweet, careful way of caring, the little details that showed his love and care, and his generous nature, but in the back of his mind, he felt that certainty, that—reassuring knowledge, that Tony cared for him, that Tony would reach out and take care of him if he faltered or stumbled or began to fall.

“Shh,” Tony said, and Steve could hear the flustered little chuckle in his voice, felt Tony go warm against him, wondered if he was flushing a little to match it. He circled his hand over Tony’s belly, rubbing gently. He found himself wondering again when it was Tony had become so shy about receiving affection in return, so clumsy at it. It was sweet, but he could wish Tony was a little more practiced, could accept things like that a little more easily. It struck him as a little sad that one of the few things that flustered poised, sophisticated Tony Stark was affection honestly returned when he himself gave out caring and care so freely, even if he didn’t ever make a big show of it. He kissed the shirt over Tony’s heart again, circling his navel with one finger until Tony was chuckling, shivering under him, then leaned up, ignoring the twinge of his sore ribs, to press a kiss just under Tony’s chin, against his neck above his Adam’s apple, feeling the soft rub of his beard. 

“Thanks,” he murmured. “For lookin’ out for me.”

“Oh, honey,” Tony murmured. His hands skimmed down over Steve’s shoulders, rubbed at the small of his back. “Of course. Just hope you’re feeling better, that’s all.”

How could he not feel better, with Tony here? With Tony here, holding him, petting him like that, keeping him safe and warm?

“So much better, Tony,” Steve breathed, and let Tony pull him gently in against him, rested his head against his chest, against his heart, breathed in deep of Tony’s welcome, wonderful scent, and let Tony rub his back and stroke his hair. He felt so safe, so good. Sure, his ribs hurt, and his leg was throbbing and sore and aching, painful and tender and itching as it healed, but he felt so, so warm, at home, so … protected, secure, like Tony was his shelter, just for him, a shelter from his pain, from stress, from the rest of the world. Because he was home, he was with him, he was safe. Tony would take care of him. He was so grateful. 

“Good,” Tony said, smiling. His hand scratched gently through Steve’s hair. “That’s all I want, babe. All I want.”

That was even probably true, Steve reflected. Tony was such a sweetheart. He curled his arms around Tony’s waist and closed his eyes, pressing close, letting half of his weight or so rest on Tony. Tony just laughed and scratched at his hair some more, and Steve let his eyes slide closed, as Tony scratched his scalp, petted his hair, rubbed the back of his neck. Tony always made him feel so good.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and just let himself relax.


End file.
